


Not In The Same Way

by Mothman_plays_the_drums



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Bullied Luke Hemmings, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Panic Attacks, Underage Drinking, but Michael makes it better, but he'd never SAY that, fetus!luke, fetus!michael, implied cashton, luke is sad, michael is whipped, physical assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothman_plays_the_drums/pseuds/Mothman_plays_the_drums
Summary: A small, possibly growing collection of stories between nemeses Luke Hemmings and Michael Clifford. Slowly, maybe they'll come to realize what they are arent REALLY nemeses.
Relationships: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Luke Hemmings
Kudos: 22





	1. What a Loser.

**Author's Note:**

> Kyla im @ ing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke really needs a drink, and Michael doesnt mind supplying.

Luke's sheets are green, and Michael did not know that until now.

Truthfully, he didn't think he'd ever get to this point. It was almost sad. 

To be fair, he was the one that agreed to come over in the first place, because apparently Luke's actual friends were busy getting busy somewhere far away from Luke's house. How Luke has Michael's phone number is beyond him, as well as why he agreed to come over with a bottle of vodka to hang out with his sworn enemy (well, enemy is starting to become a strong word. Why would he come over to his house, after all?) 

When he steps into the room he looks around. The house is empty, no parents having greeted him at the entrance. It's.. weird, but Michael doesn't dwell much on it. He looks around the room and catches just a glimpse of Luke rubbing his eyes before those almost electrically blue eyes pop up to Meet Michael. Well, that's a stretch, he more so greets the bottle of vodka in his hand. It's an enthusiastic welcome. 

"You really brought it?" Luke stares at the bottle with wide eyes, and in this state, with his baby face a little puffy (from… Michael can only assume what,) and his jaw dropped in awe, Michael can almost see the appeal of being friends with him. He's cute when he's not being a snarky little shit. 

"Why wouldn't I," Michael responds, dropping onto Luke's bed, "I never pass up an opportunity to get smashed."

"Fair. Are we just gonna take swigs out of the bottle?" 

"And talk about life if we feel like it, dear Luke. Like, for example, what got you so desperate for comfort that you texted me of all people."

Luke rolls his eyes. "You'd have to get me really drunk to divulge that information. Promise." 

"We have time. And a bottle." Michael punctuates his sentence with the pop of the lid twisting out of place as he unscrews it. He takes a swig once the bottle is open before handing it over to Luke, a smug look on his face as the youngest eyes the bottle. Luke takes a small sip, struggling to not make a face as the vodka burns it's way down his throat. 

Yeah.

Definitely a little cute. 

Not that Michael would ever give Luke the satisfaction of hearing him say that. 

The two start with small talk, the things you should talk about with someone you barely consider the person in the room an acquaintance. Little conversations that passes between them like the bottle fill the first couple hours while the two watch the sun set. Then, it's dark. He can't see just how electric Luke's eyes are in the dark. The green sheets under Michael start to feel softer, likely due to the alcohol. Luke starts to Look kinder. He always fixes Michael with this hard stare that feels like judgement, but now, the boy just looks cautious. He looks like he wants to do something, or say something, but it's scary. People are scary. Michael could agree. 

"Can I lay there? With you?" The question breaks the light atmosphere. Michael stares blankly at Luke. The boy is looking down at the floor. They haven't made eye contact all night.

"Like.." Michael starts, "you want to cuddle or something?" 

Luke's cheeks turn bright red, and he buries his face in his arms. "I dunno, I just like cuddling people. You're in my bed anyways. I wanna lay down." 

Michael shrugs, and it might hit him later that maybe it isn't the best idea to cuddle with your nemesis, but who cares when there's a few shots in them? Luke gets up from his chair and (awkwardly- because everything about Luke Hemmings screams awkward, especially the stupid little quiff in his hair,) lays down in Michael's arms. They shuffle for a few seconds before they find a position that works; Michael laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling (that's painted blue and covered in song lyrics he can only assume Luke wrote,) with Luke's head resting on his chest. Luke's body is incredibly warm. He almost doesn't need a blanket to feel comfortable. Almost. 

"So, Luke who likes cuddles, are you drunk enough to tell me why, exactly, you felt like getting drunk with your favorite nemesis?" Michael looks at him expectantly. Without a word, Luke grabs the bottle out of Mikey's hand and brings it to his lips, downing the biggest shot he's taken all night before he rests his head on Michael again. "It's stupid." 

"Stupid enough to make you want to drink, obviously." He must've hit a nerve, because Luke squeezes at Michael's sides as a method of (what he assumes- he's assuming a lot,) comfort to himself. He's silent for too long. Michael looks down, only to make sure he didn't fall asleep, obviously. Tears stain Luke's face, collecting on Michael's shirt, and despite wanting to hit Luke for getting his shirt dirty, he rubs Luke's back for comfort. It's all he can do, really.

"There was this boy," Luke starts with a hiccup, "and he knew I was.. experimenting? With all this- you can't say a word about this to anyone, Michael. I swear to god I'll-"

"Kill me. I know. Stays between us." 

"I-.. anyways. He started talking to me, and things were going good, and he had kissed me a few times, and it wasn't serious by any means, but I thought it could get there."

Michael nods. There's a few moments of silence where Luke just tries to collect himself. Michael can give him that, a few seconds of refuge. 

"And he was cute. So cute. But Ashton and Calum had a bad feeling, and it's almost worse that they were right, yknow? Cuz then they get all smug because they tried to tell you and- god, you get it, right?" 

"Yeah," Michael chuckles quietly. 

"And I mean we had some make out sessions where things got kind of hot, and he is not afraid to show off- he's BIG." 

"I didn't need to know that. Gross." 

"Shit- sorry, are you straight?" 

"Not by a long shot, continue." 

"Well, the point is he was kind of a package. I didn't understand what they didn't like about him, y'know? He seemed too perfect. And then I asked if I could meet his friends. He said no, they're not very cool anyways and he 'wanted to keep me to himself.' That should've been a red flag." 

"Definitely." Luke glares at Michael. Michael shuts up.

"Well, I got curious, so I looked up his spam account. Guess what I found." 

Michael smirks. "Was it dick pics?" 

Luke giggles a little. Michael will count that as a win. "As much as I wish that's all it was... no. He posted a decent majority of our texts. And! He had all of his friends commenting on it. They called me a slut, Michael. And a lameass! In the same sentence!" He sniffles a little, and maybe Michael goes too far, but his thumb wipes away some of the tears wordlessly, so Luke can continue. "It's so stupid, the insults weren't even clever. It was just dumb shit that a bunch of kids with a grand total of two braincells made up, but I felt so betrayed, y'know? I wasn't even the only one! He'd done it to so many boys! And he was so cruel!" 

Michael might be too drunk, because he feels indignation twist in his gut as the story goes on. Who the fuck does that kind of thing? He takes another sip of the vodka and plays with Luke's hair until Luke goes silent, having said all he can say. "Well..." Michael doesn't think carefully about what to say. "Yeah, that's pretty fucking stupid." 

"Gee, thanks." 

"I mean really, what kind of loser is has self esteem low enough to-" 

"Listen, I get it-" 

"Need to find validation in-" 

"I know I'm fucking stupid, shut u-"

"Making other people feel bad about themselves. Honestly, that's kind of sad. And what an idiot he must be."

Luke looks up at Michael. His lip is wobbling. He's so stupid and looks so small, despite being six-foot-fucking-four, and he's so emotional. If Michael were a rational person he would think it was pathetic, especially since this was all coming from the same kid that achieved joy in making Michael's life hell. 

Michael, of course, is not a rational person, and the sight of Luke looking small and broken over something so stupid absolutely wrenches his heart. "Really, why would any smart person pass up a real chance with Luke Hemmings? If it were up to me, I'd tell you to tell him and his little rat pack that they can say whatever they want about you. They're obviously too stupid to see Luke Hemmings is a fucking catch." 

"Wow, I've never once thought that The Michael Clifford would say that to my face." 

"Blame it on the alcohol, Hemmings." 

"Ah, got it. If it's the alcohol talking, you're not so bad yourself, Clifford."

"I know." 

"No, seriously." Luke hoists himself up on his elbows, scooching up a little before dropping himself into Michael's space again. This time he settles into the junction between Michael's neck and shoulder. Michael smells like mint cologne, and Luke just figures that that's his body wash, because there's no way The Michael Clifford put on cologne just for Luke. "You're pretty nice to look at sometimes. For example, when you're telling me why I should tell Dante's little squad to go fuck themselves."

"His name is Dante?" Michael cackles. Then he looks at Luke, and cackles again at the look Luke gives that indicates he's dead serious. "That's so lame! He sounds so lame!" 

"You think that's lame? He had a friend named Sherley. That's fucking lame." 

"They sound like the bullies in a nineteen-fifties era horror movie that are definitely gonna get killed off first." 

"Tell me about it. There was one kid that defended me though." 

"Even lamer, what's he even doing with them?" 

"I haven't a clue, Michael. I haven't a clue. He was kinda cute, though. And very nice." 

"What was his name?"

"It was- like, Dave? Or Mark? Something like that." 

"Two very different names, but go off." 

"He was so sweet! He kept telling Dante to stop posting our conversations, said he wasn't funny. He even slid into my DMs to ask how I was doing." 

Michael gasps dramatically. "And you didn't marry him on the spot?" 

"No, I didnt! I made a grievous mistake, didn't I?" 

"Obviously!"

They lapse into, for once, comfortable silence. Michael's fingers card through Luke's hair. It's easily knotted, he notices, when it's not straightened. He prefers the curly hair. Luke could be mistaken for well past fast asleep if it weren't for the fingers brushing up and down his side. This scene is probably way too intimate for two barely-friends to be sharing, but Michael can't find it in him to care. Blame it on the alcohol. 

"Thank you, Mikey." Luke sounds sleepy, and his breaths are slow against Michael's neck. "For all this. You didn't have to. I know you don't like me much." Michael would be a bold faced liar if he doesn't admit his heart flutters at the sound of Luke's sleepy voice. 

"I had fun." 

"Can we be friends?"

Michael mulls it over for a minute. That's a bit of a dangerous thought, all things considered. He's not exactly out to his family, and if the butterflies in Michael's stomach are anything to go by, that could be a very big problem in the near future. 

"Sure." Michael, again, is not a very logical person, and he's a push over for cute boys that just got their poor little heart broken. There's a little squeeze, and a barely audible "thank you," muttered before, like a light, Luke is out. 

Mikey can live with that. He sets the now half empty vodka bottle down on the side of the bed and wraps his arms around Luke.

This is fine. 

And maybe he's saying that from a place of postponed mental breakdown, but that's a later problem. For now, this is fine. This is good.


	2. CALM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke has a bad night, and he calls Michael first.
> 
> || TRIGGER WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF PHYSICAL ASSAULT, A PANIC ATTACK||

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still @ ing Kyla

He can't breathe. He tried, but he just can't. He can't think either, not much outside of "text Michael," and "stop crying." He can't breathe, and as a result, he can't stop crying as he slumps down against his bed, not quite on it, but close enough to lean against it. His hands shake as they come up to frame his face, and for a minute he hopes he can calm down on his own, until the bruises on his arms become visible again. He spirals further, reaching shakily for his jacket and digging through his pockets to find his phone. A text is attempted, it really is, but he can't type right from the shaking, and in his frustration opts to just call him. The line rings one time, two, then three, then silence. 

"Hello? Luke?" Michael's voice sends a jolt of anxiety down his spine, but he sucks in a breath and tries to sound somewhat steady as he answers. 

"Michael, hi- hi, uhm.. Can you-" Luke hiccups, and then he can't breathe again, desperately trying to suck in air but not taking any, because your lungs are full, Luke, you can't take anymore. Breathe out! and it sounds pathetic from his side of things, but he can't think much. "Please... Oh god- help. I need help, Michael. Please help." It's all Luke can say, and it's all Michael needs. 

Mikey sounds like he's gathering things on the other side of the phone as he replies, "Of course. I'm on my way, are you home?" 

"Yeah- I'm, Fuck! I can't breathe Michael, I wanna breathe!" The boy is rushing his words because it hurts so much to speak, and he hates how small and broken his voice sounded. It makes his eyes more watery than they already were.

Michael just tells Luke he's on his way and hangs up. Luke grips his knees, curling into himself and sobbing. He figures he'll pass out eventually, but time passes so slow and his lungs hurt so much, and he keeps replaying it over and over in his head. He was cornered, and someone had him by his arms, he fell into a pile of trash, he thought he deserved it. He deserved to be beaten there. His breath hitches and another wave of hurt hits him, making him shudder and shiver. He just needs to breathe, if he could just breathe, that's all he needed-

His bedroom door creaks open, and Michael steps in, so gently and quietly, until he sits down in front of Luke with quiet words and a gentle smile. "Hey there, buddy. Can I touch you?" Luke nods and, just like that, Michael takes his hand and runs his thumb over the knuckles. 

Luke looks up at Michael, and like a tidal wave, he's hit with the sensation again. His breathing picks up, and he's sobbing, and he can't articulate any kind of understandable sentence because Michael is here, seeing him in his state of mental collapse. He's so gentle with Luke. It's so different from normal. 

"Hey, come on now, bub. Can I take you to the bathroom?" Michael tugs gently on Luke's hand as he speaks. "We're gonna run some water over your hands. It'll help ground you, ok?" He tugs Luke up with little resistance. The boy's knees are wobbly. Michael understands that, looking Luke in the eye for a moment.

"Is it ok if I touch your waist? I'm gonna help you to the bathroom." Luke nods simply, and Michael wraps his arm around Luke's waist, practically carrying him to the small bathroom next to his room. "Ok, stick with me, Luke. How you feeling? We ok?" 

Luke hiccups. Of course he isn't, but Michael knew that much. He holds his hands out to Mike, who takes them (gently, like he had ever since he got there,) and holds them under the tap. He lets go of one to turn it on, leaving it as cold as it can be. Luke feels it almost instantly, the flip of the switch that calms him some. He closes his eyes and lets Michael run his thumb over the knuckles. It must be a habit, he thinks. 

"Just like that, buddy. There you go. You're doing good," michael mumbles. Somehow, for some reason Luke will never understand, he smiles softly as Luke calms. "Are you hurt anywhere?" 

Luke nods.

"Where are you hurt, bub? How can I help?" 

Luke shrugs, mind still hazy and blank of most thoughts. The panic starts to fade away, and all that's left is exhaustion. He leans his head onto Michael's shoulder with a sigh, mumbling, "thank you." 

Michael pats his head with his wet hand. "You wanna talk about it?" 

Luke opens his eyes to look at Mikey. "Someone came 'n hurt me," he answers quietly, "they found me in an alley an' cornered me. Couldn't fight em. Too many." 

Michael presses his lips into a thin white line and turnes to face the younger. Now that he's really looking, there's a gnarly bruise starting to form on his right cheek. it'll last, he tells himself, that bruise is gonna be there for a while. "Who hurt you, Luke?" 

"Dante." Luke looks like a little kid, averting his eyes to avoid confrontation the way he does. Michael gently taps his left cheek with a finger. "He came 'n he hit me a bunch because you mouthed off about 'em. I tol' 'em I wasn't scared." 

"You were scared, weren't you?" 

"Hella." 

Michael nods, quietly. He taps the hurt boy's left cheek again. "Can I touch you there?" Luke nods again, so Michael gently rests his hand on the cheek. 

For some reason, Luke breaks under it, collapsing again into a fit of sobs and leaning into Michael's shoulder. "He- He threw me into a pile- there was a pile of trash and he- he threw me in it- and I thought I belonged there! I thought I deserved it, Mikey.. I deserved it..." 

Michael hugs him tight and lets him sob. He lets the little rants in between the sobs go, and holds onto Luke in hopes that it's what he needs, and eventually, Luke goes quiet. Eventually, Luke tucks himself into Michael's arms (which shouldn't be possible, considering the motherfucker's height.) He sits there quietly, waiting for a response.

"You never deserved that, Hemmings," is all Mikey gives him. 

"Hmm?"

"You said you deserved it, Luke. You didn't deserve that. Not after all you've been through with them." 

"Mmm." Luke finally wraps his arms around Michael in a return hug. "Don't believe you, but 'kay." 

"I know you don't," he whispers, "but we'll get there, yeah?" 

"Sure." Luke answers. "Anything for you, Mikey." 

Michael grins. "Tired, bub?" 

"Very," comes Luke's whisper, followed by a nod.

"Wanna go cuddle?" 

Another nod, and Michael leads him off to Luke's room. Liz stands at the end of the hall, and when Michael pulls the tired one out of the bathroom, she opens her mouth to speak, but Michael mouths, "he's okay," before she can say anything. Liz has trusted her son with the other many times before and he never failed, so she trusts him again. Michael decides he'll fill her in once Luke falls asleep. 

Inside Luke's room, Mikey helps the younger climb into bed and lays down so Luke can lay down comfortably. His head lays on the other's chest, like always, and he plays with his shirt, like always. 

"You dye your hair again, Mikey?" 

"Yes I did." 

"Hmm. 'Mkay." 

"Is that a problem?" 

"I mean," Luke interrupts his sentence with a soft giggle, " you're gonna go bald, but it's not my problem. Pink's a good color on you." 

"Thank you, Luke. Is it ok if I play with your hair?" 

Luke nods. 

It's alright. 

They can discuss what happened in detail tomorrow, because at that moment, Luke doesn't need that. For right now, Luke needs to be calmed and comforted, and Mikey can do that. After all this time, he's happy to do that. 

They never really labeled themselves anything other than nemeses. Michael figures, at this point, that they don't need to. He, at least, enjoys the (now) playful rivalry they keep up, that only got shattered in private. Michael doesn't hold any contempt for the younger boy anymore. He hopes the feeling is mutual, but he wouldn't dwell on it.

There are a lot of feelings he wouldn't dwell on right now. At that moment, all that matters is Luke's health. Luke's happiness. 

Luke matters.

Even if he doesn't see that.


End file.
